


A Cold And Broken Hallelujah

by BigSciencyBrain



Series: Solace [4]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: I am so sorry Steve, I owe you kittens and rainbows, M/M, Suicidal Steve, no really, they really just need to have an honest conversation, this fic is not a sex ed lesson
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-08
Updated: 2014-01-08
Packaged: 2018-01-07 23:19:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,478
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1125565
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BigSciencyBrain/pseuds/BigSciencyBrain
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Steve is badly injured and Loki is discovered.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Cold And Broken Hallelujah

Loki feels someone approaching, tripping invisible lines of spun magic that he’s spread around his nest.  The night is young, sun barely set, and it has been quiet; even villains and enemies of SHIELD have slow days.

He continues working at the fire, coaxing it into a healthy blaze.  It isn’t as much for warmth as familiarity, though he is loathe to admit that it reminds him of Asgard.  Behind him, he hears the door open, hears the tread of Steve’s boots until the top of the steps where he always leaves them behind.  Steve comes to him every night now, which means the Avengers will have questions.  If they’ve asked, Steve has not mentioned it, nor has he told Loki what explanation he gives for his nightly absence.

“Hey,” Steve says.  He visibly sheds tension as well as his jacket and the button up flannel shirt beneath. 

Loki watches Steve leap up to catch one of the support beams and then swing himself fully around it, gathering momentum to make the jump to the next.  He can’t help enjoying the elegant gymnastics.  Steve lands on the kitchen floor and disappears, returning to the edge a few moments later with a bottle of wine, a corkscrew, and two glasses. 

He hides a smile by turning back to the fire, adding another log and moving the wire mesh into place to prevent sparks from escaping. 

The wine has no affect on Steve; it is a habit that Loki enjoys and Steve indulges him.  He accepts a glass and allows himself to be pulled to one of the benches.  It’s a practiced position, both of them sideways on the bench, Loki’s thighs draped over Steve’s.  He leans back and sips at his wine, watching the blush creep into Steve’s face.

“What have you come for this night?” he asks softly.

Steve drinks wine like it’s lemonade on a hot summer night.  “I want to please you.”

“How would you do that?” 

This is familiar as well; a script they’ve written in bits and pieces.  He pretends not to notice the brush of Steve’s fingers at his waist, slipping between skin and the fabric of his jeans. 

That has changed; Steve has grown bolder.

He watches, trying to gage Steve’s mood.  The shifts are subtle, far too subtle for the Avengers to notice, with, perhaps, the exception of the Black Widow.  Tonight, he seems playful, which means that no one has died or been injured.  On days when someone has died, Steve is far more aggressive, as though sex is the only way he knows how to put those memories behind him.  Loki manages to hold onto his wine glass when Steve decides to undo his jeans.

“Can I?” Steve asks.  His face is flushed and his eyes are wide, guileless.

Loki shrugs, pretending to be more interested in his wine.  It is little enough effort for him to allow Steve to pull his jeans down over his legs.  He murmurs a vague protest as his wine sloshes in the glass; Steve only laughs and tugs harder.  Once Loki is naked, he settles back onto the bench, letting his knees fall open and still focusing on his wine.

“I could draw you for hours,” Steve says.  His eyes widen slightly as Loki rolls his shoulders, flexing his wings just enough to stir the air.

“I can think of far better uses for your hands.”  Loki finishes the glass of wine and sets it on the floor.  He leans back, propped up on his hands, and uses his wings to keep his balance.  That’s all the motivation Steve needs.  He slides onto his knees and moves in, pressing his lips against Loki’s stomach.  His hands are rough, calloused from his shield and his weapons. 

Loki doesn’t think he’ll ever get tired of those hands on his skin.

His heart beats faster as Steve’s lips move lower.  When he looks down, Steve is watching him, his expression hopeful and eager to please.  Steve is not particularly experienced, but he has a surprisingly steep learning curve.  Loki's body responds to the way that Steve licks and sucks, the breathless sounds he makes as he swallows Loki deeper, but it’s the look in his eyes, the wide-eyed sincerity so at odds with the cock in his mouth, that unravels Loki’s self-control like a loose thread.

Digging his fingers into Steve’s hair, he forces a faster rhythm.  It’s a little bit too fast for Steve to draw a full breath and he’s pulling hard enough on his hair to be painful. 

Loki waits until he can’t take the heat of Steve’s mouth another second.  He tightens his grip on short blond hair and Steve gasps as his head is jerked back sharply.  Still slick with Steve’s saliva, it’s a matter of two hard strokes before he comes.  The sight of semen spraying out over Steve’s face keeps his hand going until he’s completely spent.  With a glint of defiance in his eyes, Steve leans forward to lick the last drops away.

“How’d I do?” he asks, breathless.

Instead of answering, Loki bends to kiss him, tasting himself on Steve’s mouth.  He sucks Steve’s lower lip gently into his mouth, biting down lightly.  Reaching down, he catches the edge of the plain t-shirt and tugs it up over Steve’s head.  With a sly grin, he begins to wipe Steve’s face clean with the soft fabric.  “Would you like a reward for a job well done?”

A sound that is almost a whine comes from Steve’s throat. 

Loki drops his head to the side, pressing slow kisses against Steve’s throat.  “What reward should you have?”

“Could you…” Steve’s voice breaks.

Loki trails his hands lightly down Steve’s arms, letting his fingers circle around his wrists.  “Is this what you want?”  He turns one wrist and bites at the sensitive inner skin.

“Yes,” Steve breathes.

“Ask for it,” Loki murmurs.

Steve leans into his touch.  “Please.”

“Very well.”  Loki pulls away, fingers still wrapped loosely around Steve’s wrist.  It’s simple to bind Steve’s wrists with invisible energy; a rope that only Loki can see.  Another accident.  The first time he’d bound Steve this way had been to tease him; he hadn’t expected Steve to react so strongly.

A flick of his hand and Steve’s wrists jerk upward, coming together and rising up until his toes can only just touch the floor.  His muscles strain as he adjusts to the new position.  Loki leans back on the bench, taking his time in admiring the beautiful play of muscles beneath skin.  In the light of the fire and the candles, Steve is all gold and shadows.  After he’s taken in his fill, he presses his palm against Steve’s erection and watches him strain, unable to get any leverage to push back; he is completely at Loki’s mercy. 

Steve’s head is back, his eyes closed, and he’s panting – _moaning_ – already.

Loki takes his time peeling away the rest of Steve’s clothes.  He trails his fingers over the lines of muscle and sinew in Steve’s legs, pressing and teasing with gentle touches along the inside of his thighs, the backs of his knees, and the taper of his ankles.  He wonders if any of the Avengers realize how desperate Steve is to be touched, how much he craves it and, at the same time, how difficult it is for him to accept physical contact.  He cannot accept tenderness, so he comes to Loki, night after night, eager and hungry for what no one else can give him.

Moving behind him, Loki catches his hips and stills his motion completely.  “I have a surprise for you.  Since you did so very well.”

“What…what is it?” Steve asks.  He’s trying to turn his head far enough to see Loki, but can’t quite manage it.

Loki moves quietly back to the fireplace, reaching for the smooth, slender willow branch he’d set aside.  A few nights were all it took for him to realize that Steve responds to pain, but there are so many different types of pain.  The branch bends easily in his hands, giving and flexing; the tension somewhere between a stiff rod and the supple give of a leather whip.  He turns back, pausing to admire the bare skin of Steve’s body and each curve of muscle.  Moving closer, he reaches out and lets the tip of the branch trail along Steve’s spine.

Steve tries to twist to the side but the enchantments on his wrists prevent him from turning.  “What’s that?”

Steve doesn’t like blind surprises, Loki has also learned.  So he steps around, trailing the branch tip over the broad expanse of Steve’s chest.  He leans in, fastening his lips on one of Steve’s nipples and sucks hard.  Steve jerks against him.  It’s too tempting not to indulge himself; he wraps his arms around Steve’s waist, continuing to suckle and bite at the hardened bud.  When Steve begins to moan, he moves to the other nipple and gives it the same treatment.  Steve’s cock is hard and weeping against his stomach when Loki stops.

There’s a familiar, enigmatic half smile on his lips.  Loki doesn’t know what it means.

He lets his fingers trail down Steve’s stomach, wrapping lightly around his cock and slipping down to cup his balls.  The keen that comes from Steve’s throat is intoxicating.  He sees hunger and passion in Steve’s eyes; his hips are jerking forward almost unconsciously, seeking more pleasure.  It sets his blood on fire and stokes his hunger.  He moves to press against Steve’s back, savoring the taste of salt, and grips Steve’s hips, rutting against him as his own arousal returns.

Steve’s head falls back.  “Loki."  The sound of his name on Steve's lips is ecstacy.

He licks a stripe up Steve’s back.  “Be patient.” 

“Tease,” Steve says with a note of laughter in his voice.

Loki grinds against him.  “So impatient.  Will you beg for it?  Will you plead for me to fuck you?”

“If that’s what it takes,” Steve answers softly.

Loki pauses, holding Steve’s hips.  There is no denying that he loves having the great Captain America naked before him and thrills at the idea of fucking him.  But there is something in Steve’s voice that catches at him, makes him wonder if he’s missing something.  Rather than think about it, he takes a step back and raises the slender willow branch.

It hits Steve’s back with a sharp crack and leaves a bright red welt.

He gives Steve only a moment to recover before he strikes again.  He doesn’t stop until Steve’s back is covered with red stripes.  Steve is visibly shaking, his breath ragged; his fists are clenched tight above him.  Loki is breathing hard as well and the contrast of red against pale skin is dizzyingly beautiful.

“Loki,” Steve gasps.  “Please…please.”

A violent shudder passes through Steve’s body; that’s the cue Loki has been waiting for.  He goes for the jar of lubricant that he keeps beside the fireplace.  He’s slicked, hard and throbbing, by the time he returns to Steve.  He doesn’t stop to work the tight muscles with his fingers, simply lines himself up and presses in.  He knows it must hurt, but Steve’s back arches, his breathing growing harsher as Loki pushes deeper. 

“Enough?” Loki asks, his voice strained. 

He still hasn’t found the limits of what will satisfy Steve; he’s not sure what he’ll do when he finds them.  It’s a strange contradiction; Steve will take every drop, every ounce of pain that Loki gives him and beg for more, but he won’t move a muscle if he thinks that he’ll cause Loki pain.  

Steve hesitates.  “It feels good…so good.”

That hesitation says more than words.  It’s not _enough_.  Loki makes several long, slow thrusts, allowing the lubricant to work deeper into Steve’s body.  When the tight, inner muscles begin to loosen, he increases the tempo until he is pounding into Steve hard and fast, his fingers leaving bruises on pale skin.  He stops, changing the angle and rolling his hips in the way that he knows Steve enjoys.  He can feel Steve shiver as his cock drags against his prostate.

In a single, terrifying moment, he wonders if he will ever be _enough_ for Steve. 

That alone is enough to send him driving hard into Steve, desperate not to lose his hold on the man and desperate to feel a _connection_.  He so desperately wants this to be _real_ instead of just a game they play. He leans forward to lick against the red welts on Steve’s back, feeling Steve shudder.  His orgasm takes him by surprise; muscles clench tight and he buries his face against Steve’s back as he spills himself in hot pulses.  He’ll never admit aloud that those moments, when he’s buried deep in Steve, are the only moments that he feels alive. 

In those moments, he wants _more_ than the life of silence and shadows that he’s been given.

“Loki,” Steve whimpers, his voice tight.

Loki shakes as he pulls out, leaving a trail of lubricant and semen.  Before him, Steve is strung so tight that he’s writhing for release.  Bitterness and anger rise up in Loki’s throat, born from his own fear and desperation.

He isn’t _enough._

He grabs the willow branch, stumbling as he moves around to face Steve.  He tries to make his voice hard, vicious even.  “Beg for it, _Captain_.”  Anger flashes in Steve’s eyes.  Before he can respond, Loki whips the willow branch against his stomach and his body goes rigid.  Loki catches his jaw, gripping hard.  “Surely even the great Captain America knows how to beg.”

Steve meets his gaze and there is fire in him.  “No.”

Loki whips the willow branch against his stomach again, adding a second, angry welt on his skin.  It’s hardly a punishment; if anything, Steve is straining toward him even more now.  Loki changes tactics, letting the branch fall to the floor.  He keeps his touch light, gently stroking his fingers along the length of Steve’s cock.  Not quite tight enough, not quite hard enough.  He presses soft kisses against Steve’s chest.

“Loki,” Steve groans with frustration.

“You defied me,” Loki answers, as if that explains everything. 

“Don’t call me…Captain.  That’s not who I am.  Not here.”

 _Not with you_.  He doesn’t say the words but Loki hears them all the same.  There is no _Captain America_ here, no right or wrong; there is only _want_ and _need_.  The good Captain America does not come to Loki to be fucked; it is the weak, all too human Steve Rogers.  Resting his forehead against Steve’s collarbone, he can feel the bumps of the welts on his back beneath his fingers.  He traces them gently, wondering if Steve will ever allow him to touch him in a way that isn’t both pleasure and pain.  The nagging feeling that he’s missing something returns. 

“Loki?” Steve sounds unsure.  “Are you…what are you doing?”

“I should leave you here.  Untouched.  Let you suffer for your defiance.”  He steps away; the bindings around Steve’s wrists fall away with a wave of his hand. 

Steve lands, stumbling and swaying to catch his balance.  He drops his head, cheeks flushing dark red, and his shoulders slump.  “I’m sorry.  I’ll…I’ll do better next time.”

 _Next time._   There is always a thick mixture of hope and fear in those two words.

“I will allow you an apology.”  The relief on Steve’s face is almost painful to see.  Loki motions toward the jar of lubricant on the floor. 

Careful not to hit Steve with his wings, he turns around and bends over to grip the nearest bench.  He can hear Steve moving behind him, feels him get closer like the approach of a wildfire.  The jar of lubricant clatters back to the floor a moment before Steve’s hand settles on his lower back.

Loki closes his eyes.  He’s still dizzy from his orgasm, his cock limp and unresponsive between his legs.  Still, it’s almost more agony to wait than it is to finally feel Steve press into him.  The rhythm he sets is easy, gentle; almost as if he _cares_.  Loki allows himself the fantasy that it’s true, that Steve is gentle because he cares, rather than it being the one element of his nature that he can’t seem to wholly abandon, even with Loki.  Everything else, every other part of himself, he leaves at the door with his shoes and jacket. 

He gives the whole world _Captain America_.  It’s no surprise that he has very little left at the end of the day.  At first, Loki wondered if he sought him out to be punished for some unknown wrong, but now he knows that isn’t what Steve is looking for at all; he’s looking for oblivion. 

“Hold onto my wings,” Loki says quietly.  The only time he doesn’t hate the unnatural limbs on his back is when Steve is touching them. 

Immediately, Steve’s hands settle just above the joint where his wings meet his back and slide over slick feathers.  A soft moan escapes his lips; he has a terrible weakness for Loki’s wings.  Loki tests the new balance, flexing his wings forward and back and feeling Steve pulled with them.  Predictably, he feels Steve’s grip tighten with the motion, the pace of his thrusts quickening.  He smiles in spite of himself.  It is surprisingly pleasurable to feel the pull against his wings as Steve pushes into him.  A pleasant hum sets up beneath his skin, his cock twitching with renewed interest.  But that isn’t his purpose so he sets it aside.  He focuses on the sounds that Steve is making, the breathless moans, and he waits until he can hear his breathing becoming irregular.

Loki slows the motion by controlling the flex and give of his wings, forcing Steve to make his thrusts slow and deep.  _This is how I would take you, if you’d let me_ , Loki thinks, but says nothing.  He waits for the moment that Steve just begins to slide forward again. 

Turning his face away, Loki closes his eyes and wills his wings to change.

Steve is still for a moment, only a moment, before the force of his thrusts nearly sends Loki toppling forward; his grip on Loki’s wings tightens.  The sharp cry that tears from his throat echoes through the warehouse and his hips jerk and stutter before he collapses forward onto Loki’s back. 

 _So that is what will satisfy you_ , Loki thinks bitterly.

It takes some time for Steve to stir again.

“Loki.”  There is terror in Steve’s voice.  “Did I hurt you?”

When he turns around, Steve is staring down at his hands, eyes wide and filled with horror.  His palms and fingers drip with blood from the cuts made by Loki’s feathers slicing through his skin; it trails down his wrists and forearms, falling to the floor. There are streaks of blood over Loki’s skin as well, where Steve has touched him.  He almost laughs that Steve is the one bleeding and he is worried about hurting Loki.

“Come here.”  Loki sits down and motions for Steve to kneel between his legs, catching Steve’s hands in his own.  The flow of blood slows and then stops as he blows against cuts.  A bit of ice, a bit of whispered magic; he numbs the wounds and wipes the blood away.  “Did you enjoy that?”

Steve looks as though he would burn the whole world to the ground to do it again.  “You’re sure I didn’t hurt you?”

A hollowness settles into his chest.  He pulls Steve close, settling his head against his thigh and stroking fingers through his hair.  It is only after that Steve ever allows Loki to touch him with anything resembling tenderness.  “You did well.  Very well.” 

With that praise, Steve goes limp against Loki, his eyes closing and breathing falling into a steady pattern.

**

Loki doesn’t see Steve for two nights.

On the second night, he ventures out to Freetown, wondering if Steve will be there.  He isn’t.

Two warring ideas begin to play out a battle inside him.  Either Steve has fallen and is lying somewhere broken and lifeless, or he has decided that Loki is not _enough_ and has chosen to pursue another.  Both ideas are bitterly painful in their own way, twisting around inside him until he feels that his very entrails must be tangled with their machinations.

He refuses to turn on the television and look for answers.  If Captain America is dead, he has no desire to see the press scrabble over the event like jackals.  Instead, he reads and cooks and keeps himself busy. 

And he waits.

As the sun begins to set on the third day, he builds a fire and settles down in front of it, arms loosely wrapped around his knees.  With his eyes closed, he focuses solely on the threads of magic that he’s woven around the building.  He feels every disturbance around him; every scurrying rat and flying bird.  He searches for the familiar, purposeful step of Steve’s boots, but there are only strangers and small creatures.

_There._

He feels his stomach clench, frowning as he focuses.  The steps are too slow to be Steve, with a slight unevenness to the gait that belies an injury of some kind.  Still, they are moving toward the warehouse with deliberate purpose.

The lock slides back, its enchantment recognizing Steve, and the door swings inward.

Loki doesn’t look up.  He stares at the fire as though it doesn’t matter that Steve has been gone, without explanation, without a word.  What does it matter he has been alone?  He is already cast out and forgotten.

“Hey,” Steve says.  He sounds weary.

Letting his head turn slightly, as though deigning to glance toward whoever had interrupted his thoughts, he watches Steve remove his shoes and jacket.  He notes the stiffness in Steve’s movements and his stomach churns.

“You are injured,” he says flatly, discarding their carefully crafted script.

Steve smiles a little.  “It’s not bad.  They wouldn’t let me go anywhere for a few days, that’s all.”

Loki frowns, narrowing his eyes.  “Remove your clothing.”

“I…I need a minute.  I’m sorry.  It’s just…I just need to rest a bit.”  Steve looks away as though ashamed by his weakness.

With an impatient wave, Loki removes Steve’s clothing with magic and his breath freezes in his chest.  Steve is covered with deep bruises, spread like a black poison beneath his skin, and patches of red, inflamed wounds.  He wonders if there were broken bones as well, it seems likely considering the remaining superficial damage.  “Who did this to you?”

Steve’s eyes widen in surprise, glancing down and then up again.  “There was a fight.  That’s all.”

“Who?” Loki demands sharply.

“I’m okay.  In a couple days, these will be gone.”

“I asked who did this to you.”  Loki stands up slowly, fists clenched at his sides. 

Steve meets his gaze evenly, refusing to look away.  “I can’t tell you.”

“I will find out.”

“Please.”  Steve holds out a hand, his fingers shaking.  “Please, don’t.  You can’t beat this thing, Loki.”

Loki scoffs, turning to pace restlessly back and forth in front of the fire.  “If you believe that I have chosen to remain hidden and not to involve myself in this world, because I am weak?  Is that what you think?”

“No.  Please don’t…don’t twist this into something it’s not.”  He sags, bracing his hands on his knees.  “I didn’t come here to fight with you.”

“Then tell me who did this!” Loki shouts, furious with Steve and furious with himself for caring at all.

“And if you go after them and they kill you?”  He shakes his head.  “You can’t fight my battles for me.  I won’t let you.  I can’t.  I can’t let anyone else get hurt.  Not for me.  I’m not…it’s not worth it.”

Loki stills, some of his anger fading.  Intuitively, he knows that he’s been handed an important piece of a puzzle that is Steve Rogers. 

He continues, leaning harder against his knees for support. “My whole life is war.  That’s all I’m meant for, all I’m good for.”

Loki swallows.  He crosses to Steve and reaches for him, trying to be gentle against bruises and torn flesh.  Still, he hears pain in the breath that escapes Steve’s lips as they leave the floor.  He lands as lightly as possible and carries Steve to the bed, easing him down.  Now that he’s close, he can see that the injuries are far worse than Steve is admitting, even after a couple days of presumed recovery. 

“Sorry,” Steve murmurs, his eyes drifting closed.  “Just give me a few minutes and we can...I’ll be…”

“Shh.”  Loki presses his fingers to Steve’s lips, whispers an enchantment that will sink him into a deep, restful sleep.  In his state, it is mere seconds for the spell to take hold and he is sleeping peacefully.

For a long time, Loki lies beside Steve with one wing folded over them like a shield.  His thoughts are foxes chasing rabbits round and round inside his mind.  He has grown lax.  He’d stopped paying attention to SHIELD’s enemies – Steve’s enemies – after Steve became his lover.  But Steve’s rejection of Captain America was only at night, only here, and only with Loki.  It did not mean he was safe from those who sought to harm him.

_All I’m meant for, all I’m good for._

He turns the words over and over as he watches the slow rise and fall of Steve’s chest.  Eventually, he closes his eyes.  He makes a silent promise that he will discover who this enemy is; they will pray for death before Loki is finished with them.

In the morning, he convinces Steve to stay and rest.

For another day and another night, he watches over Steve.  He makes sure he eats, helps him shower, and presses against him while he sleeps.  The bruises begin to fade.

Loki doesn’t believe that SHIELD let him leave willingly.

Mid-afternoon on the second day, Steve wakes from restless sleep and seeks Loki out.  He takes longer than usual to make his way down to the ground floor.  Loki occasionally glances up from the book he is reading to make sure that Steve is managing on his own.

“Hey.”  Steve sounds out of breath when he sits down on the floor beside Loki.

“You could have called for me.”

“What are you reading?”

“Tales of your bard, William Shakespeare.”  Loki turns the page and rests his fingers along the spine to hold his place.  “How do you feel?”

“Better.  Good as new, really.”  Steve smiles but it doesn’t reach his eyes.

Loki turns his gaze back to his book.  “You are a terrible liar.”

The silence is neither awkward nor comfortable.  Loki reads several more pages before he glances over to see Steve staring up into the rafters of the old building.

“Are you cold?” Loki asks.  When Steve frowns at him as though confused, he nods toward the dark and cold fireplace.  “You are welcome to start a fire if you’d like.  It will be evening soon and it is supposed to be cold tonight.”

“Oh.  Yeah.  I can do that.”

Loki goes back to reading, but finds it difficult to focus.  He doesn’t want Steve to realize that he’s watching him as he sets about building a new fire in the hearth.  Each log and piece of kindling is strategically placed as Steve works out the most efficient way to get a fire burning.

“Will you be missed?” Loki asks casually.

“What?”  Steve glances back, then shakes his head.  “Oh.  Maybe.  I didn’t really think of that.  I told them I needed to go.”

A certain tone in Steve’s voice catches his attention.  “Is that all you told them?”

“Yeah.  Pretty much.  I just…just explained that I.”  He stops to blow a fledging flame into life and spread it to one of the larger pieces of wood.  “I mean, I go out every night and they know that I’m seeing someone.”

“And since you had very nearly died, it was only natural that you wished to spend time with your lover.”

“Exactly.  They didn’t really ask a lot of questions.  I expected more, actually.”  Steve brushes his hands as he stands up, but when he turns around, the realization that he’s said too much is clear on his face.  “It wasn’t like that.  It wasn’t like I was really in danger.”

“Of course not.  I’m sure anyone would have survived your injuries.”  Loki turns back to his book.

“Sure.  Probably.  Clint and Natasha have been through a lot.”

“No doubt they would also be able to face the creature you call the Abomination and live to tell the tale.”

Steve is quiet.  He settles down cross legged on the floor beside Loki, his fingers picking at the threads of the rug beneath them.  “How did you know?”

“It wasn’t difficult to surmise.  You forget that I watched both you and your enemies for some time.”

“Please don’t…do anything.”

Loki doesn’t answer.  He can’t make that promise but he has no intention of letting Steve know that.  “You are here and you are alive.  That is what matters.”  Although they are a lie, his words contain more truth than he intended to reveal.

“You know,” Steve says brightly, changing the subject.  “I think I feel good enough to…um…maybe.  You know.”

“Have sex?”  Loki rolls onto his side, the heel of his palm pressed into his temple.  “Perhaps.”

“The bruises are mostly gone.”

Loki licks his lips, considering.  “You are still too wounded.  There is little point in reopening wounds just healed.”  He sees disappointment flash across Steve’s face, sees the protest forming behind his eyes.  A sudden ache stabs through him; the place where his heart used to be.  “I’m sure we can find something that will please you.”

He tries.

He eases Steve onto the rug, carefully, gently.  He takes his time removing their clothing, extra care in kissing and caressing damaged skin.  The slower pace makes him dizzy and confuses him.  He has to bite his tongue to keep ever more foolish words from spilling out.  There’s impatience in Steve’s eyes as he begins with his fingers, but Loki ignores it.  He turns his wrist, working his fingers against the tight muscles until they’ve loosened enough that there should be no pain at all.  As he pushes his cock into Steve, an inch at time, it’s slow and hot and _perfect_.

 _This_ , Loki thinks as he closes his eyes.  This is what he wants with Steve.  He wants every moment to ache with the heat of their bodies.  His wings stir the air around them, moving with his shoulders.

Steve moans and Loki opens his eyes, a triumphant smile on his lips, but it fades quickly.  Below him, Steve is pressing one hand against a large bruise on his thigh, fingers digging into the darkened skin.  He almost stops, almost pulls away.

He hasn’t wanted to admit the truth; that Steve _needs_ the pain in a way that not even Loki understands.

“Steve.”  He slows and goes still.

Steve grimaces, then pulls his hand away.  His face is flushed but Loki doesn’t believe it’s because they’re having sex.  “Is…is something wrong?”

“Touch yourself,” Loki says softly.  He places his left hand on the floor beside Steve’s head.  “Do it.  I want to watch you.”

Steve laughs nervously as he obeys.  He reaches down and curls his fingers around his cock; his strokes are slow and sure.  Loki resumes his thrusts, pushing deep enough that it must hurt.  Still, he can see that it’s not enough.  The restlessness, the distance, in Steve’s eyes never goes away.  As though he can’t actually let himself go unless it hurts.

He lets his right hand drift to Steve’s throat, fingers fanning over his jaw.  “Just like that.  Good, very good.”

Steve can’t quite hide his eagerness to please.

Loki tightens his grip little by little.  Until Steve’s eyes go wide and his breathing is thin and choked.  He wants to take it slow, wants to tell Steve that he –

He drops his forehead to Steve’s, unable to admit the truth even to himself. 

But the truth doesn’t matter.  This is what Steve needs and that is all that matters.  He closes his eyes, his hand around Steve’s throat, and keeps going until he feels Steve shudder, feels the warm spray of semen over his chest.  He pulls his hand away once Steve is finished and panting. 

 _This is all I have_ , he thinks.  This is all Steve will allow him to have.

He pretends that it’s _enough_.

**

Tony lands.  The thud of the Iron Man suit against the ground is always satisfying, even if the Mayor of New York City keeps threatening to bill him for every cracked sidewalk he leaves behind.

Flipping his helmet up, he glances around for the others, seeing only Natasha.  “Did Steve ever turn up?  Or has he given up on the whole idea of Avenger-ing?”

“He was already out when I got back.  He didn’t take his phone.”

“Never thought I’d say this.”  Tony can’t shrug in the suit but he can still sigh dramatically and be sarcastic.  “I’m glad Cap’s getting laid and all, but maybe we should GPS chip him so we can find him.  For occasions like this.”  He gestures toward the smoking ruins of what had been some sort of robotic mole creature.  It had taken out two subway lines before it drilled up through the street and SHIELD rolled out the biggest welcome mat they had, Avengers style.

“We took care of it.”  Natasha presses a finger to her ear for a moment, listening to someone else.  Her lips set into a firm line as she pulls the communicator out of her ear and tucks it into a pouch on her belt.  “Don’t suppose you need to be home early, Stark?”

“I’ve got time.”

She nods.  “Leave the suit.”

“Wait, why?”  Tony doesn’t get an answer and rolls his eyes. 

He beats Natasha back to the tower, of course, and gets out of the suit.  Pepper is curled up on the couch with a stack of portfolios beside her.

“You’re home early,” she says without looking up.

“Turns out the underground mole thing was just a big toy.”  He heads for the bar.  “Did it make the news?”

“You always do.”  Pepper stirs, shifting some of the folders.  “The press is starting to notice that Steve’s not around as much.”

He sips at his glass of scotch, eyes moving to the television.  “So is SHIELD.” 

“Is he okay?  He was hurt pretty bad last month.”

Tony shrugs – and does that feel _good_ – as he starts toward her.  The Abomination had worked Steve over before a very pissed off Hulk arrived to even the odds; Tony is surprised that all of Boston hadn’t gotten leveled in the process.  Steve had bounced back like the super soldier he was and it wasn’t like it was the first time Steve had ended up in a hospital bed.  He’d been so anxious to get out of it and back to his lover that they’d practically had to tie him down. 

“I’m pretty sure this is Steve’s first grown up relationship where sex is actually involved.  I’m sure it’s nothing to worry about.”

“You’re probably right.”

He’s heard that tone of voice often enough to learn to listen.  “You think something else is going on?”

She glances up for a moment, frowning.  “No, I mean…I hope not.  It’s just a silly thing, really.”

“Come on.”  Reaching out to catch her hand, he presses his lips against her fingers.  “Your hunches are never silly.  You’ve got the best instincts in the business.”

Her smile draws laugh lines around her eyes and he loves her for them.  “It’s just that...if that’s what’s going on, wouldn’t he be happier?  Maybe it’s just when I see him, but I don’t think he’s happy.  He doesn’t seem like someone who’s in love and has a healthy relationship.”

“He’s got that whole stoic Captain America shtick.  Be a man, never show emotion, all that jazz.”

“Maybe.  It’s just a feeling.”

“You finish your homework.  I have a late night study session with Agent Romanov.”  He leans in to brush a kiss against her forehead and leave his drink on the coffee table.  “I’m sure Steve is fine.”

He meets Natasha in the lobby; she’s still in her SHIELD uniform.

“Clint’s going to meet us along the way.”

“Oh, I like this.  Secret missions, cloak and dagger.”  He follows her out and climbs into one of the black SHIELD SUVs.  “Are we going after the criminal mastermind behind the mole thing?  Because, I gotta tell you, that is hilarious.  What kind of deranged mind comes up with that?  A mole?  Why a mole?”

“Tony,” Natasha cuts him off, her eyes on the road.  “We’re going after Steve.”

Tony turns his seat, trying to get a better look at her face.  “SHIELD doesn’t know we’re doing this, do they?”

She shakes her head slightly.  “After he didn’t come home for a week, Clint’s been tailing Steve at night, trying to find out where he goes.  Steve’s good at losing people but he finally slipped up.”

“That was after Abomination brought a building down on top of him and he’d just gotten out of the sick ward.  I don’t blame him for wanting some quality time with his boyfriend.”

She gave him a sharp look.  “Have you ever seen him when he gets home in the morning?”

“Um, no…”

“He doesn’t look like he gets much sleep.”

“That is sort of the point of having a boyfriend.”  He refuses to grab onto the armrest when she takes a turn a little too fast.

“He comes home in pain, Tony.”

“Okay, so it’s rough sex.  Who am I to judge?  Or you.  I guess you’re not into that kind of thing.  I always figured you were probably pretty out there…whips, chains, leather.”  He winks when she glares at him.

“Stop imagining me as a dominatrix.  It’s never going to happen.”

Chuckling, he turns to look out the window and tries to judge what part of the city they’ve come to.  Not a good part, that’s for sure.  He could probably throw his watch in any direction and hit a drug dealer.  “Though I would’ve pegged Captain Whitebread for a plain vanilla type.”

“There are lots of ways to convince someone to do something they wouldn’t normally do.”

Her answer is so matter of fact that he shivers a little.  “Sometimes I forget how terrifying you are, Agent Romanov.  This is not one of those times.”

They pull down a narrow street and Natasha cuts the headlights.  After a moment, one of the rear doors opens and Clint slides into the backseat.  “It’s a warehouse, still a couple blocks away.  Damn, he’s a hard man to follow.”

“You do realize you’re tailing Captain America,” Tony says wryly.  “Which, may I state for the record, is going to piss him off.”

Clint ignores Tony completely and leans forward between the two front seats.  “We should probably go the rest on foot and there’s something you need to see when we get closer.  It’s right up your alley, Stark.”

“I certainly hope it’s a better alley than the one we’re currently in.” 

He climbs out of the car to follow Natasha and Clint, feeling only slightly awkward with the two people who are better at skulking around than pretty much everyone he knows.  Something squishes under his foot and he grimaces, very much not wanting to imagine what it might be.  Clint leads them through a twisting maze of streets, each seemingly dirtier than the last, and up a fire escape that has Tony wishing for the suit.

“Why are we on the roof?” Tony whispers as he crouches down.

“That’s the building.”  Clint nods toward the old warehouse in front of them.  Only the outline of a building is visible.  “The windows are painted out and the doors are chained shut.  I couldn’t get a look inside.”

“Yes, but why are we on the roof?” Tony repeats.  Locks could be picked and windows broken, none of which was possible to do where they were.  He squints into the darkness, but can’t see anything out of the ordinary about the building.

“Watch this.”  Surprisingly, Clint doesn’t reach for his bow.  He feels around at his feet until he finds what he’s looking for, pulls his arm back and hurls something toward the building.  Like a rock thrown into a pond, shimmering green ripples appear where the object hits and spread out rapidly over the whole side of the building.

“What the hell was that?” Tony leans forward, trying to watch where the green ripples go.  “Do it again.”

“Don’t,” Natasha says sharply.

“Is it some sort of energy field?  Can we get closer?  I knew I should’ve brought the suit.”

“Be quiet,” Natasha orders.

The three of them stay still, huddled together.  After several moments, a single green band appears on the side of the building and sweeps over it.  This isn’t a ripple; its motion is deliberate, as though scanning over the region of the building struck by the rock.

“Wow,” Tony breathes once the shimmering green light has faded away.  “That is incredible.”

Clint rocks back on his heels.  “What kind of security system is that?”

Tony hesitates, thinking back to what Pepper had said and putting the pieces together.  “You guys think Steve’s in trouble.”

“Maybe he’s just in over his head and has really bad taste in men.”  Clint retreats from the edge of the building, starting back toward the fire escape.  “But I know that you don’t have a security system unless you have something to hide.  And that isn’t like any system I’ve ever seen.”

They’re silent on the way back to the SUV.  It’s still there and still has all four wheels, which is almost a miracle.  Once inside, Natasha starts the car and turns on the lights, heading back to the Tower.  None of them speak for several minutes.

“What do we know for sure?” Tony asks, breaking the silence.  “We know that Steve leaves every night.  We know he goes to that building.  We know the building has a type of force field that appears to show a level of intelligence or sentience or maybe just good programming.”

“We know who else is in there,” Clint adds.  “Shadowfax.”

Tony twists around to look at him.  “Do we know that?”

“Who else could it be?”

“I don’t know.  Does Steve have more than one boyfriend?  I think there’s a lot we don’t know here.”

A muscle in Clint’s jaw twitches.  “It’s him.  I know it is.  I can feel it.”

“This is just between us for now,” Natasha says.  “Until we know for sure.”

“What’s it gonna take to convince you, Nat?” Clint pulls back, collapsing against the seat and clearly irritated.  “I know I’m right about this guy.”

“Clint,” she says and it’s a warning.

The split second look Natasha gives Clint makes Tony wonder if Steve is the only one they should be worried about.  He turns forward, his mind back on the question of what kind of energy could be surrounding that building.  If they’d let him take the suit, JARVIS could’ve gotten scans of the energy signature, but he had to cede that Iron Man didn’t exactly have a stealth mode.  They get out of the car together, but Tony deliberately falls back.  He catches Natasha’s eye and she makes an excuse to meet Clint later.

She folds her arms, watching him.  “Stark.”

He opts for blunt.  “What’s Clint’s deal?”

She swallows.  “He thinks he knows who Shadowfax really is.”

“And?”

“The guy’s dead, supposedly, so it can’t be him.  And he never had wings either.”

Tony frowns.  “Supposedly?"

"SHIELD hasn't been able to confirm either way."  

"And Clint doesn’t think he’s dead.”

She looks away, her gaze drifting upward.  “I think Clint is going to jump at shadows for the rest of his life.” 

Tony rubs at the bridge of his nose.  “So Clint’s paranoid and obsessed with someone who’s supposedly dead, which is a pretty big _if_ in this line of work.  Steve is either in a colossally messed up relationship or he’s being coerced.  Or something.”

“That’s about right.”

He sighs and motions toward the doors.  “Come on up and have a drink.  I really have to say that I never expected to be the well-adjusted member of the Avengers family.  The rest of you are completely screwed up.”

“Steve might be in danger.”

“I’ll take JARVIS on a field trip tomorrow and check out the building.”  He pulls the door open, waiting for her to join him.

“Thanks, Tony.”  There’s a subtle smile on her lips; he knows that’s all he’s going to get.

On the way up, he makes an excuse to stop off at the floor where Steve’s apartment is.  He leaves the elevator and whistles nonchalantly as he walks down the hallway.  He stops at the door, staring at it.  Steve isn’t home and this goes against everything that Tony believes in, however little of that there is.

“JARVIS?”

“Unlocked, sir.”

Tony exhales as he turns the doorknob and lets himself in.  He hopes to find nothing at all. 

Instead, he stops after only a few steps into the room and stares.  Every wall, even the ceiling, is covered with art.  Much of it is abstract, almost surreal.  There are images of war, of broken and dying men; a blood red skull with burning eyes is painted directly over Steve’s bed.  One wall is a portrait of the Winter Soldier holding what looks like a broken piece of Captain America’s shield.  

He turns in slow circles, soaking it all in.  “J?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Find Agent Romanov.  She needs to see this.”  He stops to stare at the longest wall of the room and the mural that covers it.  It’s the same creature – Steve had been the one to name him _Shadowfax_ – in large scale.  The face is covered with long black hair; painted skin is blue and lined with geometric designs, but that isn’t the part that catches Tony’s eye.  What catches his attention is the expanse of black wings and the red paint depicting blood dripping from the feathers. 

Tony isn’t a psychologist, but he’s seen enough of them to know that the images surrounding him spell trouble.   He’s still staring when Natasha comes up behind him.  Whatever she says is lost to him, probably in Russian.

“That’s what he looks like under the mask.”  She moves forward, her fingers stopping just short of touching the mural.  Frowning, she glances around, taking in all of the paintings. 

“I’m in,” Tony says.  “Whatever is going on with Steve, this isn’t right.”

“We should go now.”

“No.  We need a plan first.  Somewhere Steve can be safe, even from himself.  Not here.  Somewhere he can be contained.”  He runs his hands through his hair.  The violence and pain he sees in the images makes his stomach churn.  “And I need about a dozen gallons of paint.  Maybe I’ll just rip out the drywall and start over.”

“SHIELD?”

“Do you have a better option?  This is dark stuff, Natasha.  This isn’t just about our friend Steve anymore, this is national security.  Captain America has gone down the rabbit hole and he’s not chasing a fluffy white rabbit.”

Natasha raises an eyebrow.  “Since when do you care?”

“Since a crazy guy blew up my house to prove a point.”  He starts for the door, unable to look at the walls anymore.  “Steve needs help, I am fully on board with that.  But I don’t think he’s going to ask for it and, unless they make adamantium reinforced strait jackets, we’re going to need backup.”

Natasha follows, closing the door behind them.  “I’ll make the call.”

“Ask Fury if Hulk’s time-out room is available.  That might be our best bet.”

**

Loki phone buzzes; he ignores it.  It had been Steve’s idea.  He’d claimed that he wanted a way to let Loki know if he was going to be unable to see him.  For some unfathomable reason, Steve had insisted that Thor have the phone number as well.  His only explanation was to tell him that Loki and Thor still had time to make amends and that he shouldn’t take that for granted.

It is little enough effort on his part to ignore Thor’s calls and messages.  When it buzzes again, he turns his back to it and moves closer to Steve.

The last hours of night are his favorite; while Steve sleeps, spent and contented, beside him.  He feels almost at peace in the quiet times before dawn.  Pressing closer, he soaks in the warmth of Steve’s body and traces his fingers along the lines of muscle.  The image of Steve’s bruised and battered body still haunts him, although he has allowed Steve to think that the incident is behind them.  Steve speaks little of the battles he faces as Captain America; they speak very little in general.

Steve doesn’t come to him for conversation.

In his head, Loki plays out silent conversations.  He imagines what they would talk about, what he might say that would coax a smile or a laugh out of Steve’s serious demeanor. 

Lightly, he traces a fingertip along the marks he left in Steve’s skin hours earlier.  They are already fading.  He wonders idly if it would be possible to mark Steve permanently, to etch or brand him as though to claim him.  The thought of it, of ownership, is strangely appealing.  He knows that Steve would never agree to it; Steve believes that he is already _owned_ by SHIELD and the identity of Captain America. 

“You’re awake,” Steve says sleepily, eyes still closed.

“I did not mean to wake you.”

“You didn’t.”  Steve curls into Loki a little more.  “It’s my day off.”

Loki continues to trail his fingertips down Steve’s arm.  He knows that Steve is not going to suggest that they go out for coffee and breakfast, or perhaps wander about the city.  Those are all things that normal people do – people who are _in love_ – and what they have isn’t normal.  Still, a small part of him wonders what it would be like to pretend to be normal.  The wings on his back are a constant reminder that _normal_ and _love_ are both things that he cannot have.

A disfigured monster will never be normal or loved.

“I was thinking.”  Steve lets his hand settle on Loki’s forearm, his thumb making light circles.  “About what we did a couple nights ago.  Do you remember?”

“Perhaps you should be more specific.”  Loki smiles, amused.  He’s not sure Steve will ever be able to put his words into a sensible request.  A bright blush is already creeping into his cheeks.  “Are you referring to the night that I bound you to the bed?”

The blush deepens.  “The night after that one.  When you…used your wings.”

“Ah.”  Loki presses in to nuzzle against Steve’s ear.  “You and your obsession with my deformity.”

That gets a rise out of Steve.  He opens his eyes and turns, pulling away.  “You are not deformed.”

“I see no wings on Thor.”

“You're not Thor either,” Steve insists.  “I love your wings.  They are beautiful, you are beautiful.”

Loki smiles, it feels brittle and strained, and pretends that his heart doesn’t ache at the sound of the word _love_ on Steve’s tongue.  “Would you like to do it again?  What we did that night.”

Licking his lips is a subconscious tell that Steve is unaware he has.  He settles back against Loki.  “Would you like to do it again?”

“Mmm.  Perhaps.”  Loki moves his hand to Steve’s hair and begins to comb slowly through it.  “What would you be willing to do to earn such a reward?”

“What would you like?”

 _To touch you with the same tenderness that you show me_ , he answers silently.  He cannot ask for that, not outright. 

When Steve had been badly injured, Loki had tried.  There was little else Steve could do, but there had been something _unquiet_ in his eyes.  During their coupling, he had been distant, as though pretending he was elsewhere and simply waiting for Loki to finish.   It had been easy enough to press his hands against bruises, to drag his fingernails over already abraded skin, and the pain brought Steve back to him.

“Loki?”

Loki shakes those memories away.  If Steve will accept nothing else, then Loki can give him the pain that he needs.  “I would like you to fuck me.  Now.”  It takes some maneuvering to lie on his back; his wings make the position uncomfortable.  Steve moves to get out of the way, his eyes following the motion as Loki spreads out his wings.  They stretch out wider than the bed.  Loki bends his knees, spreading his legs wide and motioning for Steve to move between then.

Steve glances down at Loki’s phone as he reaches for the jar of lubricant on the narrow stand by the bed.  “You have a message from Thor.”

“Some fool thought he should have my phone number.”  Loki settles further, making minute adjustments in his back and shoulders.  “Is there a reason you are concerned with my phone rather than fucking me?”

Steve’s face is red when he returns.  He kneels between Loki’s legs, his legs pressing against the back of Loki’s thighs.  “He’s your brother and he cares about you.”  He sets the jar aside, letting his hands skim down in the inside of Loki’s thighs, his thumbs brushing tantalizingly close but never quite close enough.

“He is also a fool.”  Loki lets his eyes almost close.  This is the closest they’ve come to having a real conversation in weeks. 

There is no response to that; Steve’s mouth is occupied with following the path his hands took, pressing kisses and sucking at Loki’s thigh.  Strong fingers dig into Loki’s hips and a moan escapes his lips as Steve’s lips reach the delicate skin of his balls.  He lets his head fall back, arms loose at his sides, and relaxes into the sensation.  Vaguely, he registers that one of Steve’s hands is no longer touching him and that is disappointing.  A moment later though, he feels a finger slide against the sensitive skin between his cock and his ass.

“You should talk to him,” Steve says.  His tone is light, as though discussing the weather.  In the same breath, he pushes a finger inside Loki.

Loki opens one eye.  “Is this truly what you would like to talk about right now?”

Steve shrugs.  “Now’s as good a time as any.”  He’s smiling that strange half smile that Loki doesn’t understand as he pushes a second finger inside, working at the muscles to loosen them.

Curious, Loki watches.  Steve’s expression is focused; his every motion attentive and aware of what brings Loki physical pleasure.  He lavishes attention with his fingers and mouth, coaxing Loki’s cock to hardness.

“Why?” Loki asks a little breathlessly.

“Why what?”

“Why do you insist that I talk to Thor?”

“Oh.”  Steve looks up for a moment and smiles.  “I guess I want you to be happy.”  He drops his head back down and catches Loki’s cock in his hand.  “Is that a bad thing?”

Loki remains silent.  There are times when he feels that there is much that Steve keeps hidden, that he doesn’t allow Loki to see.  Propping himself up on one elbow, he places his other hand lightly on the back of Steve’s head.  He doesn’t apply pressure when Steve’s mouth moves down over his cock; he doesn’t want to push, he simply wants to feel the silk of Steve’s hair against his fingers.

He forces his tongue to move, knowing Steve can’t answer.  “If you think reconciliation with Thor will make me happy, you are a greater fool than I thought.”  Steve’s response is to turn his hand so he can curl his fingers and brush against Loki’s prostate.  Loki can’t help gripping at Steve’s hair, trying to stay relaxed even with the stimulation.

 _Why do you care if I’m happy?_ Loki thinks, unwilling to voice the question aloud.

His cock slides out of Steve’s mouth with a soft _pop_ and he pulls his fingers out as well.  He adjusts his position and Loki’s, until he is seated with Loki lightly balanced on his thighs.  It forces Loki to arch his back, hips lifted a few inches from the bed.

“Do you think that’s enough?”  Steve adds more lubricant to his fingers, working them gently back into Loki.  “I don’t want to hurt you.”

“And if I want you to hurt me?”  The question seems to confuse Steve and Loki feels something cold twist at the pit of his stomach.  He doesn’t know if Steve doesn’t believe that he wants to be hurt or if it’s more complicated than that.  Perhaps he simply believes that only someone as monstrous as Loki would be willing to hurt another during sex.

“Is…is that what you want?”  Steve looks torn and terrified.

Loki tries to redirect the conversation, not wanting to press Steve further.  “I am more than prepared.  You will not hurt me.”

“Are you sure?”

“Steve,” Loki says, frustrated.  He rocks his hips against Steve, pressing down against his fingers as though that would be enough to convince him.  At this rate, he will be left aching for hours.

Steve doesn’t remove his fingers, continuing to work Loki open until he is satisfied.  First, he grinds up against Loki, cocks sliding against each other and one hand wrapped loosely around them both.  When he finally leans back, Loki thinks he might come apart.  Steve’s cock slides easily into him, hands moving to Loki’s hips.

“Deeper,” Loki orders.  He lets his head fall back as Steve presses forward.  “Deeper,” he repeats.

“I can’t…it’s too-“

“Do it,” Loki snaps, reaching down to grab Steve’s wrists.  He feels Steve push deeper, stretching him.

“I’m hurting you.”  Steve sounds as though he might panic.

“You’re not, it’s fine,” Loki assures him quickly.  He can tell that Steve doesn’t quite believe him, but he finally begins to make slow, gentle thrusts. 

Falling back on his wings, he closes his eyes and pretends that this – whatever it is – is _enough_.  Pleasure hums beneath his skin, but it feels hollow at the same time.  He doesn’t open his eyes again until it’s over and he comes in Steve’s hand.  He can tell that Steve is unfinished and brings his legs together to stop him from continuing; this isn’t what Steve wants.

“Are you okay?” Steve asks, genuinely concerned.  “Was that…was that good enough?”  He can’t keep the hunger for what’s _next_ out of his voice.

“You did well enough,” Loki answers lazily.  “Why don’t you start a fire?  I will join you shortly.”  He is surprised when Steve leans down to kiss him first and smiles in spite of himself.

Once Steve has left, Loki sits up and stretches out the tension in his back and shoulders caused from lying against his wings.  As he leaves the bed, he picks up his phone and skims through the messages that he’s been ignoring.

_HELLO BROTHER_

_I WOULD LIKE TO FEAST TOGETHER_

_I WILL BE AT THE PLACE WE MET BEFORE_

_AT NINE HOURS INTO THE MORNING_

_PLEASE COME_

Loki sighs and tosses the phone onto the bed.  “Please educate Thor on the abuse of caps lock,” he calls as he steps to the edge of the platform.  Steve is crouched in front of the fireplace, carefully coaxing the flames back to life.

“Yeah, he does that.”  Steve stands up, brushing his hands.  “What did he want?”

“He would like to meet for breakfast.”

“Will you go?”

Loki narrows his eyes.  “It is your day off.  Wouldn’t you rather do something else?”

“It might be good for you to get out.”

“Would you come with me?”  Although he has no explanation to give Thor as to why Captain America would be accompanying him.

Steve drags his fingers through his hair, looking everywhere but at Loki.  “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“Likely not.”  The words taste bitter.  Even if he knows, logically, that Steve is right.  He pushes that from his mind.  “I believe that I promised you a reward.” 

With a quick gesture, Steve’s wrists are caught up and bound.  This time, he raises Steve high enough that he can’t touch the floor at all.  In minutes, his shoulders will ache from hanging there, but he thinks that is exactly why this is Steve’s favorite position.  He takes a seat on a nearby bench, watching the flush spread over Steve’s face and throat. 

He has to remind himself that this isn’t about the anger simmering at the pit of his stomach.  It isn’t about the hollow desolation that has settled in the back of his throat.  It’s about what Steve needs; no more and no less.  It isn’t punishment and it certainly isn’t _love_.

Only a monster can give Steve what he desires, that’s why he comes to Loki night after night.

Loki leaves the bench, restless and angry.  There’s a basket beside the fireplace where he keeps everything he’ll need.  He has never struck Steve in anger, but his hands shake with it and he can’t swallow it down.  He tries to focus on Steve’s body and the way the firelight casts his skin in soft gold.  He loves the curves of muscle, loves the angles and shadows that he sees along his hips and ankles.  There is such _perfect_ beauty in the planes of his body.  Perhaps that is why he cannot seem to stop letting Steve in, night after night. 

 _You are perfect, flawless,_ he thinks as he trails his fingers down the backs of Steve’s thighs.

He takes his time, refusing to hurry.  First, he fishes two small metal clips from the basket.  He begins at Steve’s navel, pressing gentle kisses against his skin.  Working his way up, he can feel Steve’s cock stir with arousal.  He ignores it.  Instead, he turns his attention to Steve’s nipples, coaxing them into hardened buds with his tongue.  When he’s satisfied, rubbing his thumb over each in turn, he latches a metal clip to each, first the right and then the left.  Breath hisses between Steve’s teeth and a whole body shiver passes through him.  Loki works his way back down Steve’s chest, kissing and biting lightly at his skin.

“What would you like first?” he murmurs against Steve’s hip.

“The switch,” Steve answers without hesitation.

He tugs the slender branch from the basket and lets one end trail up along the inside of Steve’s thighs.  Steve shivers at the contact, his lips parting as he watches.  Loki moves slowly to the side, keeping the branch against Steve’s body.  He lifts it away when he’s standing behind Steve and waits, seeing the tension build in Steve’s muscles from the anticipation of the first blow.  Silently, he counts to thirty before he strikes.  He gives Steve enough time to gasp between the first and the second, then the third.  Each time, he gives Steve less time, until there is barely a moment at all between the ninth and tenth blows.

After ten, he stops and reaches out to steady Steve, who is swinging back and forth without anything to anchor him.  He leans against Steve’s back, listening to the thundering of his heartbeat and pressing kisses against the red welts.  When he reaches around to curl his fingers around Steve’s cock, he is not surprised to find it swollen and leaking.  He brings his wings forward until they wrap around Steve in a dark embrace; a strange parallel of the night he stood between the Captain and Crossbones.

When Steve’s breathing has settled slightly, his heart beating less quickly, Loki pulls away.  He takes several steps backward and flexes his shoulders.  Steve shudders.

It is a cutting motion, an arc through the air, his whole body twisting into it.  He keeps his feathers soft the first time, watching where the tips of them touch Steve’s back and adjusting the angle of his wing.  Steve’s hands are clenched into fists above him, his breathing growing ragged.

 _Why_?  Loki wants to ask.  _Why do you want me to do this to you?_

He doesn’t speak.  He pulls his right wing back and clears his mind of everything.  The feathers change on the downward half of the arc and their tips, now razor sharp, cut shallow slices in Steve’s skin.  He counts silently, ticking off seconds, before repeating the motion with his left wing.  Slender threads of red appear on Steve’s back, the cuts just deep enough to draw blood.  It beads up along the wounds, coming together where individual slices meet and dripping down his back.

“Again,” Steve moans.  “Loki, please.”

Too late, he sees the subtle sway of Steve’s body.  Feathers cut through skin with no effort and blood sprays out into the air; Steve’s head falls back as he screams.  Horrified, Loki jerks his wings back and the feathers soften.  He drops the bindings and catches Steve as he falls.  Blood smears out against his chest and arms.  He lets Steve’s weight pull them both to the floor, holding him tightly. 

“It’s okay.”  Steve is breathing heavily, eyes closed.  “No harm done.”

“No harm done?” Loki repeats with disbelief.

Steve finally opens his eyes.  “You didn’t need to let me down.”  His eyes are unfocused, pupils wide in the dim light.  He moves stiffly, trying to push away from Loki and sit up.  “It’s not a big deal.”

He watches Steve’s gaze slide away from him.

“It’s just a little blood.”  He sounds petulant, defensive.  “I like it rough, I guess.  That’s all.”  He cranes his neck to get a look at his back.  “I’ll heal up in a couple hours.  I don’t know why it’s bothering you so much.”

Loki spreads his arms out to his sides.  “I am covered with your blood, I am drowning in it.”  His voice shakes with too many emotions he shouldn’t be feeling.

Steve moves to get up, his voice cold.  “If you don’t want to do this anymore, that’s fine.” 

Surging up from the floor, Loki catches his arm and wrenches him around.  “You will listen.”

Steve glares back defiantly.  “Why should I?”

Ignoring his defiance, Loki takes hold of Steve’s throat and yanks him closer.  “What happens when pain isn’t enough?  When I can’t hurt you enough, can’t make you bleed enough to satisfy you?”

“Loki,” Steve gasps.  He doesn’t fight back or try to get away.

Loki lowers his voice to a whisper; he chokes on the words.  “At what point will you ask me to kill you?” 

He sees in Steve’s eyes that he’s _right_ ; the wrenching pain in his chest is his heart breaking.  That’s what it had been about from the very beginning.  He’s shaking with fury and with fear.  He hadn’t seen it, hadn’t realized what it meant.  Not soon enough, not in time. 

He shoves Steve away, unable to look at him any longer.  “I am not a weapon for you to use to kill yourself.”

He snaps his fingers and the bindings return, jerking Steve up into the air.  He leaves Steve dangling to wash away the blood on his skin and feathers.  Under the spray of lukewarm water, he sinks down to his knees and buries his face in his hands.  How had he been so blind?  How had he been such a fool?

When the water runs cold, he rouses enough to shut it off and dry himself off.  He doesn’t look at Steve when he leaves the bathroom, doesn’t look at him while he gets dressed.  He can barely look at the bed without feeling the sick pain in his chest.  Shoving his phone into his pocket, he leaps down to the ground floor and finally looks at Steve.

He’d let it go much too far.

Steve raises his head, his expression blank and his eyes empty, almost lifeless.  Blood is still dripping into a pool on the floor beneath him, but the flow has lessened.  The wounds on his back are already healing.

“I will return,” Loki says icily.  “I trust you will enjoy this while I’m gone.”

Steve licks his lips.  “I didn’t mean…it wasn’t…this isn’t your fault.”  He’s stumbling over his words, struggling to explain something he probably doesn’t understand himself.  “I am so sorry.  I just…I just wanted the pain to stop.  I just wanted it to stop.”

“Shut.  Up.”  Loki closes the distance between him.  He wants to strike out and hit Steve as hard as he can; wants to force him to understand.  “When I return, we will talk.”  He has no idea what he’s going to say and leaves without another word.

Casting a veil over his wings, he takes the longest route he can think of, needing to walk and clear his head and lose himself in the bustle of the city.  This horrid, bright, and noisy city that is everything he hates.  They cannot stay here; he cannot stay here and he cannot allow Steve to remain here.   He churns through ideas in his mind, searching for a solution.  If he casts Steve aside, he has no doubt that he will find someone else willing to hurt him.  Or he will simply stop fighting back, as he did with Crossbones, and wait for Death to come for him.

As he walks, he becomes increasingly desperate.  He doesn’t know what to do.

He feels a twinge, the far away pull of his magic as an enchantment breaks, but he brushes it away.  The bindings on Steve’s wrists were not permanent; it’s likely the energy has merely decayed over time and that is all he felt.  The building itself is warded; should anyone force their way in, there are protections in place. 

It is a little past nine o’clock when he arrives at the coffee shop and sees Thor sitting at one of the tables.  He smiles brightly when he sees Loki and holds up two cups of coffee.

“What do you want?” Loki demands when he reaches the table.

“I ordered for you.  A mocha.”  Thor holds out the cup.

Pursing his lips, Loki grudgingly accepts the coffee and sits down.  “Well?”

“Are you alright?  You seem upset.”

“Nothing you need concern yourself with.”  Loki sips at the coffee, looking around at the other patrons and refusing to look at Thor.

“In truth,” Thor begins.  “I wanted to see that you are well.”  His cell phone buzzes on the table; he frowns when he picks it up.  “I am sorry.  I will return.” 

Loki rolls his eyes and continues drinking his coffee.  It doesn’t matter how long Thor takes, Loki’s mind is far, far away. 

“Brother, I must ask for your help,” Thor says when he sits down again, his face serious.

“I am hardly going to do you any favors because you bought me a cup of coffee, Thor.”

Thor leans forward, his expression serious.  “It is Captain Rogers.”

Loki goes perfectly still.  He keeps his gaze on the coffee cup in his hand and hopes Thor won’t notice that it is shaking.  “In what way should his involvement persuade me to help you?”

“I only ask that you help me find the creature known as Shadowfax.”  Thor’s voice turns hard.  “The others found Captain Rogers abandoned at a warehouse.  He has been tortured.  We believe it was the winged monster who did this to him.”

Loki sets the coffee cup down very carefully.  The tug of magic he’d felt earlier and brushed away had been SHIELD triggering the protective wards he’d placed.  He’s been twice the fool that day.  “And?”

“The Captain is a good man; his heart is true.  No doubt he thought that he could reform this wretched creature.”  Thor reaches out, hesitating a moment before his hand touches Loki’s arm.  “If anyone can find him, it’s you.”

Loki brushes his hand away dismissively.  “Your Avengers can find him.”

“If you learn anything of him, will you at least tell me?  The monster will know my wrath for what he has done.”

Loki’s heart is pounding.  Is this a trap?  Do they already know that it is him and Thor is merely toying with him?  Did Steve tell them he’d been tortured?  His stomach churns at the word _torture_.  How had they found the warehouse?  He holds himself back from asking for more information; that would only raise suspicion.  “How do you know that I will not warn this creature that you hunt him?”

In response, Thor turns his phone around and slides it across the table.  “See what he is capable of for yourself and then decide if you would aid him rather than help us find him.”

He looks in spite of himself and then immediately turns his face away.  Bile rises up in his throat.  “Get that away from me.”

“The Captain is a good man.  He has been betrayed.”

“Stop,” Loki says through clenched teeth.  “Stop, stop, STOP!”  The entire coffee shop is staring at them now and Thor looks shocked.  He stands up, knocking the chair aside.  He can’t stay here, he can’t look at Thor.  “My heart breaks for your Captain, Thor.  Truly.  But I cannot help you.  It’s not as though there’s a club and all of the horrible monsters stick together.  I am alone.  I have no one.  No friends, no family.  I cannot help you and I cannot help him.”

“You are not alone, Loki.  Nor a monster.”

“No doubt your Avengers will ensure the Captain is well cared for and protected.”

Thor nods.  “They are taking him to SHIELD’s flying fortress where he can recover in safety.”

 _Of course._   Loki bares his teeth in a humorless smile.  “Then there is little help I can give you.”

“If he were your friend, you would wish for vengeance, as I do.”

Loki can’t stop the shiver that runs down his spine.  “If this monster has any sense of self-preservation, I am most certain that he will never bother the good Captain again.”

**Author's Note:**

> I solemnly swear that this is as dark as it gets. It's all up from here! Mostly. Sort of. Vaguely sauntering in an upwards direction.


End file.
